Misconstrued Thoughts : Yesterday's Misconstrued Thoughts Today

The Role of Art is to Reveal the Art but Hide the Artist-Oscar Wilde

An empty canvas. Large expansive space filled with little if anything. Everyday a portrait is painted and every night it washes all away into a sea of nothing. Perhaps, though, it is not nothing. Perhaps in this sea resides the vast collage of past portraits, the landscapes of yesterday, the impressions of the pasts, the abstract lines of times before. Perhaps it is an infinite pool of mixed paints, a cacophony of oils, and pastes. An ocean of floating faces dissipating in puddles of grey clouds, scribbles of birds dancing on the impressions of melting sunsets. Not draining into a sea of nothing, but rather melting into a vast sea of everything. And the next morning, looking at the blank canvas deciding in the back of our minds what to paint, we rub our sleepy eyes, and scratch through our mussed hair. And we look to that endless sea as a pallet, drawing up our colors, our shades, and without even knowing it we go to work on the canvas creating ourselves and our lives and our days all over again.

We turn towards that sea that stretches on as far as we can see and pick out the colors of past works, drawing out the greens of fields we’ve walked in, the pinks of the streaks in the evening skies we’ve gazed into. We mix the colors of heat in summer nights we laid under the gentle glowing moon, the breezes through our hair in the spring, and the crunch of leaves underfoot in all the autumns we’ve lived before. We dab our brushes in the sadness at the end of days and the unconscious hopes of our dreams, the triumphs we keep to ourselves, and the sorrows we share with all. As our tired confused eyes begin to focus we stroke the canvas with colors of passions that have withered and of interests that sprout forth, of loves we never should have lost, and desires that we can still fulfill. We paint our pictures from past failures and present hopes; we give form with the pain in our memories and the joys hidden deep within. We add dimension with humor we’ve gathered from life’s ironies, and the philosophies we’ve read between the lines of heartache. We give shadows with the inflection of feelings beneath the surface of our skin, and the truth that radiates from our eyes.

We create our portrait as the day goes on and we parade it around for others to see. We hope others find beauty in it and understand what it means. We hope it has an impact on the hearts and minds of all that stare into it, as well as those just passing by it. We rely on them to overlook the mistakes and blemishes, and focus on the almost surreal beauty of the uniqueness of it. And while we exhibit ourselves we examine the art of others. We gaze into the impressionistic blots of their history and the abstraction of their philosophies. Tilting our heads as we look at the shapes in their foreground and the shadows painted in their depths. We interpret each stroke they make, and search for understanding of what they’ve created. Then at the end of the day, we close our eyes, and in our absence, the colors and images bleed off the canvas into a sea that’s just a little more endless than it was the day before.

Okay, wow Jon that was great...um hard act to follow. Here goes it:

When I look into your eyes,
All I see is a mask-like disguise.
I thought you were sensitive, honest, and pure,
When all you truly are is a person I despise.

You said I was "the one," the reason,
All I'm left with now is a soul full of treason.
Now sweet silence abounds all around me.
Because I blocked your number from my phone.

So ha, I finally won, I thought.
And now I'm all alone again
Just as I've always been
And I'm alright.

(Wow, that was emberassing. My friend made me post it.)

Wow Elizabeth. Amazing. Don't be emberassed by your feelings. I'm sure others can relate.

yep... its all about creativity and expression thats what creative writing thursday is about on misconstrued...

Ok J here's something:

600 years

cadavers standing upright
hold in heat like memory
hunker down
close up tight
stay safe
gotta stay safe
atomic lies
atomic dreams
same thing
lives interrupted
bright shining lights
tin foil sky
so many to die
so many to hide
bus full of bugmen
bus full of deadmen
cant trust them
have to join them
or kill them
or both
everything's clear now
everythings sane
standing on the rooftop
i see the light
all the trees glowing
glow red at night
all the trees dead now
buried out of sight

Man. There's Elizabeth, too. First I see Melissa and now Elizabeth. Excellent. I am Captian Jonathan here, as opposed to simply Jonathan in the offline world.

I have no creative writing today. All I have is... well, actually I have nothing. I have an idea. I'll write something right now off the top of my head.

I like pi
The baked kind not the math kind
I like pie
The math kind not the baked kind
***DUDE***

It's art.

That is definitely art!

JON!!!!! YOURS WAS MY FAVORITE!!!! THAT WAS SOOO TERRIFIC AND CREATIVE!! *****DUDE*****

oh wait....no offense jon h. i meant captain jon! but jon h. yours was great as well!

Wow, that is an awesome lineup. Gosh, I wish I could go.

Blast, outdone by Captain Jonathan yet again...wait I know how to out do him. What's better than a captain? Uhh....there that's better. Now then, beat this...

In the twisted alleys of lust, the fragrance vagrants,
RAINS
AS confusion&
KINGS

Haha, you didn't see that coming did you CAPTAIN, Jonathan??? Where's my purple robe....

Ah, but I have an entire arsenal.

Alas, my beloved
You are indeed the scrubby pad upon my being
Upon my soul
My dirty plate of a soul...
µGIGAMITTEN¹

Ah but then enter another... from the bedarkened corner...

a poem on first words and thoughts

pancakes cooked
pancakes fly

whats for diner?
nothing... die

Why such the hatred
where is the love

I'll eat your crumy pancake
Down my throat I'll shove

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